Read Online Echoes of the Well of Souls by Jack L. Chalker - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jack L. Chalker
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proof."
She looked over at the small but elegant-looking spread. "I see Gus isn't taking your advice on the sangria," she noted.
"Aw! He's a cameraman. He has a reputation to uphold."
Lori was much too excited and nervous at that point to think about putting anything in her stomach, so she wandered over to where the technicians were monitoring the steady satellite feed and listened to the program.
It appeared that there would be no fewer than a dozen instrument-laden airplanes aloft at rockfall, after all, although Lori's group would be the on-site news pool. If nothing else, this would be the most covered impact in history, witnessed and monitored by more people around the world than any other. And even though they would have a ringside seat, the best view would be from the big tracking telescopes in Chile, which could lock on to the meteor while it was still coming in. She only prayed this wouldn't be another one of those overhyped duds astronomical science was famous for. If the thing did break up as it entered the atmosphere, or if the resistance was stronger and the angle less steep than projected, it might be nothing more than an anticlimatic meteor shower with very little reaching the ground. Still, this rock was so large that something would hit, and it would be bigger than a baseball, that was for sure.
If it did hit with real force, it would be very dangerous, but then they'd be in the perfect position to view the impact. The newspeople were concerned only with their pictures and an event opportunity which allowed them to build audience and sell diet plans and commemorative plates and such via commercials; she wanted to be in the neighborhood when a big one hit and see it just afterward. It was the chance of a lifetime.
Terry was preoccupied with her clipboard, which was constantly being updated to the point where it resembled the tracks of drunken worms more than a comprehensible schedule, listening to cues and the remote director's queries and commands from the tiny transceiver she wore like a hearing aid in her left ear. Oblivious to anything beyond the moment, she was startled to the point of near shock when somebody grabbed her rump and squeezed.
"How dare you!" she spit, whirling around, only to see the leering grin of Juan Campos. He was obviously high, possibly from drink—he smelled like it, anyway—but also, possibly, from something more. "You touch me again and I will grab your balls and twist them off!" she snapped in Spanish.
He just grinned and gave a low chuckle. "Spirit. I like a pretty girl with spunk."
"You are a pig!" she snapped. "Would you dishonor your father's hospitality in his own home?"
"My father is an old man," Juan Campos responded. "In his time he did as much and more, but now he remembers himself only as a gentleman. He sits here in his palace and acts the patron, Eton Francisco, the great benefactor of his people. It is I who now make it all possible, not him."
"Shall we tell him that? He is not far."
Campos stiffened. "You will not approach my father!"
"Then we will approach him together and ask him what he thinks of his son's behavior to his guest!" She started toward the house, and he suddenly reached out, grabbed her arm, and pulled her violently back. High or not, there was a homicidal, lunatic look in his eyes and manner, the kind of dark malevolence that would give anyone chills.
"All right, bitch! For now! But you will not always be in this place and so— protected. You forget where you are and how long a journey you have to get anywhere else!"
And with that, he faded back into the shadows.
Terry put on a good, tough front, and she was tough after all she'd been through in her job, but she was badly shaken by the encounter. It was a sudden mental free-fall back to Earth, a reminder of just how dangerous this place and these people were and how vulnerable she and her people were, too.
She hoped that one of those damned meteors would strike the bastard or
She looked over at the small but elegant-looking spread. "I see Gus isn't taking your advice on the sangria," she noted.
"Aw! He's a cameraman. He has a reputation to uphold."
Lori was much too excited and nervous at that point to think about putting anything in her stomach, so she wandered over to where the technicians were monitoring the steady satellite feed and listened to the program.
It appeared that there would be no fewer than a dozen instrument-laden airplanes aloft at rockfall, after all, although Lori's group would be the on-site news pool. If nothing else, this would be the most covered impact in history, witnessed and monitored by more people around the world than any other. And even though they would have a ringside seat, the best view would be from the big tracking telescopes in Chile, which could lock on to the meteor while it was still coming in. She only prayed this wouldn't be another one of those overhyped duds astronomical science was famous for. If the thing did break up as it entered the atmosphere, or if the resistance was stronger and the angle less steep than projected, it might be nothing more than an anticlimatic meteor shower with very little reaching the ground. Still, this rock was so large that something would hit, and it would be bigger than a baseball, that was for sure.
If it did hit with real force, it would be very dangerous, but then they'd be in the perfect position to view the impact. The newspeople were concerned only with their pictures and an event opportunity which allowed them to build audience and sell diet plans and commemorative plates and such via commercials; she wanted to be in the neighborhood when a big one hit and see it just afterward. It was the chance of a lifetime.
Terry was preoccupied with her clipboard, which was constantly being updated to the point where it resembled the tracks of drunken worms more than a comprehensible schedule, listening to cues and the remote director's queries and commands from the tiny transceiver she wore like a hearing aid in her left ear. Oblivious to anything beyond the moment, she was startled to the point of near shock when somebody grabbed her rump and squeezed.
"How dare you!" she spit, whirling around, only to see the leering grin of Juan Campos. He was obviously high, possibly from drink—he smelled like it, anyway—but also, possibly, from something more. "You touch me again and I will grab your balls and twist them off!" she snapped in Spanish.
He just grinned and gave a low chuckle. "Spirit. I like a pretty girl with spunk."
"You are a pig!" she snapped. "Would you dishonor your father's hospitality in his own home?"
"My father is an old man," Juan Campos responded. "In his time he did as much and more, but now he remembers himself only as a gentleman. He sits here in his palace and acts the patron, Eton Francisco, the great benefactor of his people. It is I who now make it all possible, not him."
"Shall we tell him that? He is not far."
Campos stiffened. "You will not approach my father!"
"Then we will approach him together and ask him what he thinks of his son's behavior to his guest!" She started toward the house, and he suddenly reached out, grabbed her arm, and pulled her violently back. High or not, there was a homicidal, lunatic look in his eyes and manner, the kind of dark malevolence that would give anyone chills.
"All right, bitch! For now! But you will not always be in this place and so— protected. You forget where you are and how long a journey you have to get anywhere else!"
And with that, he faded back into the shadows.
Terry put on a good, tough front, and she was tough after all she'd been through in her job, but she was badly shaken by the encounter. It was a sudden mental free-fall back to Earth, a reminder of just how dangerous this place and these people were and how vulnerable she and her people were, too.
She hoped that one of those damned meteors would strike the bastard or
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